honorable mention
Giuseppe Oldoni italy
title
Mozzanica
I have not lived there for years now, but there are special moments in which I feel an urge to go back home. It happens when Mozzanica stops being the village where I grew up. When it puts on that veil that hides the landscape, the faces, the identities. When the village stops being a swarm of elders sitting on the benches and never-ending aperitifs at the bars.
The love for the place I call home begins just when the volume gets lower, and everything becomes intangible. When the sight is dimmed out and the humidity becomes so thick that you almost feel a sense of drowning with each breath.
At last, there comes the fog. To cover, reduce and muffle everything. A magnificent cloak that lowers lights and gives the village that mysterious, delicate look. The only one in which I feel at home.
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entry description
This is a portrait of Mozzanica, the place I call home, the village where my memories and affections dwell.I have not lived there for years now, but there are special moments in which I feel an urge to go back home. It happens when Mozzanica stops being the village where I grew up. When it puts on that veil that hides the landscape, the faces, the identities. When the village stops being a swarm of elders sitting on the benches and never-ending aperitifs at the bars.
The love for the place I call home begins just when the volume gets lower, and everything becomes intangible. When the sight is dimmed out and the humidity becomes so thick that you almost feel a sense of drowning with each breath.
At last, there comes the fog. To cover, reduce and muffle everything. A magnificent cloak that lowers lights and gives the village that mysterious, delicate look. The only one in which I feel at home.
back to gallery